ForgetMeNot
by Artemis Nox
Summary: The story of a girl that always felt as if she did not belong anywhere. It was as if she came from a strange and foreign land, and she was constantly longing for a home that did not exist. Until one day, she found the man that contained the missing piece.


**Disclaimer: I do not own _Inuyasha_, nor any of its associations.**

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Sango sighed as she took in the magnificent view again. Formidable mountains, rugged and sharp, rose from the ground, almost out of place amidst the lower, more docile valleys. She loved the way the immaculate snow capped just the very peak, especially because it was spring time where she sat staring at them, and they seemed all the more foreign. Like they did not belong, just as she did not belong. She was out of place in the town she had lived in her whole life; out of place amongst the neighbors she had known for years; out of place in her own house, and the very bed she slept in. but she had the mountains. The beautiful, wondrous mountains that reminded her that she was not completely alone: she was not the only one who felt that way.

Shaking herself form her reverie, Sango remembered why she was in the valley in the first place. There she sat, daydreaming, when she was supposed to be picking the Forget-Me-Nots. Sure, one would think that the flower shop where she worked would grow its own Forget-Me-Nots, but seeing as how they grew wildly just down the hill and they were really only used as accents in a bouquet, the shop owner decided to take advantage of Mother Nature's gifts.

Sango always readily volunteered to go picking the flowers since not only did she know next to nothing of putting a bouquet together, but sometimes it was just stifling to be surrounded by people that were so familiar with each other. It pained her to just watch the lively interaction from the sidelines,like the outsider she was. She sighed again as she began to pluck the blue-as-the-sky blossoms from the ground.

She worked so industriously that she hardly heard the man that approached the area where she was working. He sat on the ground, just a few yards away from her, but it was his barely audible sigh that caused her to look up. At first she thought she was merely hallucinating, for he seemed too much like a spirit. His long, flowing silver hair, habiliments made of the finest cloth, his piercing golden eyes staring at the very same mountains she—Sango—could relate with. She felt drawn to him, because he seemed out of place as well, maybe even more so than she or her majestic mountains were. Just by looking at him, Sango felt as if they had a connection. She was compelled to speak with him, to share everything. Before she realized it, the words started to flow from her mouth. She withheld anything too personal, thought it was against her will to do so. On and on and on she went, talking of the most trivial village goings-on. He sat there silently, but Sango was not sure if he was listening, or simply ignoring her. She talked on nevertheless, and kept going until he raised a graceful hand to stop her. She ceased to talk, but she was just as confused as much as she was when she first began to speak.

This time, he was the one who rambled on to fill the silence. His voice was quiet, barely audible, a murmur in the wind. But Sango listened. She listened with the same silent attention he used when she was the one babbling. His gushing words were not of commonplace matters like hers were. He divulged onto her his innermost feelings of the world that surrounded him. When at last he stopped speaking, Sango noticed the great intensity with which he stared at her. Though such a thing would normally make her uncomfortable, she experienced a rather warm sensation coursing throughout her body. She was still for a moment, cherishing the feeling. Suddenly, the man stood and turned to leave. Sango watched him walk away with a vague pang of disappointment. When at last her mind returned to reality, she hurriedly picked a few more florets and rushed back to the flower shop.

Sango never saw the man again after their brief encounter, but whenever she found herself in the valley—admiring the mountains, or picking the Forget-Me-Nots—she remembered him. She remembered him, and how his very presence pulled her darkest secrets from the deepest pits of her soul. She remembered him, and how those golden eyes sucked her breath away. She remembered him, and how his gaze filled her with such vehemence—a warmth that consumed her and how she begged for it not to leave. She often sat there for hours and hours and hours on end, remembering, savoring, and feeling as extraneous as ever.

Time passed on, and still Sango never saw the man again. Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, months turned to years. She sighed woefully one day, concluding that he had been one of the many tourists that her town so expertly accumulated. It was close to five years after that fateful encounter when Sango woke, feeling that something life-changing would happen. She went through her boring, daily routine, hoping whatever it was would happen soon. It was around noon when she was able to escape to her hideaway in the valley. Just as she was about to sit herself down to pick the sky-blue blossoms, Sango saw him climbing up the hill. The warm sensation she had so-missed went cascading through her body again as he stared her down. It took all of her strength to refrain from running into his arms as she greeted him with a simple "Hello."

Hardly a month later, the two were married.

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